Harry Potter and the Hidden Star
by Entuliel
Summary: Azrae was never normal, but she never suspected how deep the differences were. Voldemort is moving to take the ultimate weapon in the Wizard War, and only one girl can keep it from his hand. But what will the cost be?


**Title:** Harry Potter and the Hidden Star  
**Author**: Entuliel  
** Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone except Azrae, and I'm certainly not making money off this. It's just for fun, so please don't sue me. Please.  
** Summary:** Azrae was never normal, but she never suspected how deep the differences were. Voldemort is moving to take the ultimate weapon in the Wizard War, and only one girl can keep it from his hand. But what will the cost be?  
**Rating:** Teen - some subtle adult themes, strong implied violence. Possible language.

**Chapter One:**

Azrae let the book she'd just finished drop to the ground next to her hammock and gave a contented sigh as she stretched until her bones creaked. The hammock swung slightly, causing her jet-black hair to catch the bright afternoon sunlight and reflect it back in a multitude of colors; Azrae hardly ever noticed it, but people always said her hair was beautiful. It was a deep, inky black, but when natural light hit it, it seemed to glitter with rainbow-tinted sparks.

She laid her head back against the mesh of the hammock and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the summer day and happily poring over the book she'd just read, _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix._ She'd waited in line at midnight the night before to get it, and read all day to finish it. It had been worth it. The only problem now was waiting for the seventh book – she didn't think she'd survive that long. She dipped one long, slender leg off the side of her hammock to give herself a gentle push, and let her graceful fingers trail through the green grass. She was a lovely girl, there was no denying it. Her eyes were enormous and silvery grey, rimmed by thick dark lashes. Her face was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and a cupids-bow mouth and just a faint scattering of pale freckles across her nose. Her hair, thick and straight and impossibly silky, tumbled down to her hips in shining locks. The only fault she had was the pallor of her skin. No matter how much time she spent in the sun, swinging in her hammock or swimming in the lake, she never burned or tanned, and her skin stayed fair and flawless and white, like a moonbeam made flesh. She was tall for her age and slim, with a tiny waist and graceful curves. Maybe that was why she didn't have any friends…her mother said the girls were jealous, and the boys were too intimidated to talk to her. So instead she spent her summers curled up in the old hammock with a stack of books, devouring them one after another, never noticing the small group of boys that hid behind the fence and stared at her with hungry eyes.

After a few moments, Azrae opened her eyes and reached for the next book in her stack, settling down to a long afternoon of reading.

He opened the door quietly, with his robes billowing behind him. He didn't like this place. A whole world full of nothing but filthy muggles, with not even a Mudblood to add a drop of magic. Disgusting, and unnerving. But this close, he could feel her, the girl he had come for. He could feel her magic, wild and untrained, pulsing at him like a beacon. He strode through the house, heading unerringly for that bright power, shining like a star in his head. He could barely think; he felt like he was drowning in magic.

He didn't even glance at the man and woman in the house, and barely even heard their shrieks of terror as his companions took hold of them. They were filth, beneath his notice. Instead he continued toward the white star that was calling him, beckoning him. This was what he had come for; the Muggles were extraneous at the very most. His only concern was her.

And then he was through the back door, in a spacious back yard on the edge of a clear lake, and there she was in front of him, looking like the ghost of a star. She was curled in a net strung between two trees, long and lithe and fair; she glowed in the shadows. Her hair cascaded around her like a dark halo, black as pitch and strangely bright, and her hands curled around the book she held like it was priceless treasure. She wore a loose, sleeveless white linen tunic, and the whiteness of the fabric seemed to fade into the white of her skin, so that she looked insubstantial and ethereal, with the inky shock of her hair emphasizing the effect. There was a split second between the moment he saw her and the moment she turned to look at him, and in that second he regretted what he'd come to do. And then she turned her head, alerted, perhaps, by the screams from the house. The book tumbled to the ground, and her eyes met his, and he forgot regret, because her eyes were too large and too knowing and too innocent; they were a drowning silver that had all the wisdom of the ages in their depths, with a disconcerting sheen of innocence on the surface.

Faster than thought and sinuous as a snake, he was behind her, a hand curled around the silken curve of her throat and his wand to her temple. "Don't move. The dementors have your foster parents, and their lives rest on your cooperation. Do you understand?"

She gave a breathy, panic-edged laugh that sent shivers up his spine. "What are you – dementors? Are you insane? You're threatening me with a – a _stick!_ Is this some kind of joke?" She twisted against his arm, and he tightened his hold, gripping his wand until his hand shook.

"I said not to move, girl. You're a fool if you think I make empty threats." He pointed his wand at the fallen book, and she went very still as it exploded into green flames. Her breath came out in a smooth sigh, but he could feel her pulse fluttering against his hand, frantic and too fast and panicky. He pressed the wand back to her temple.

She stared at the ashes of her book. "That was one of my favorites. Did you really need to burn _Pride and Prejudice_?"

It was hard not to admire her when her voice stayed so steady even though he could feel the fine tremble in her limbs. He shook his head, trying to clear the thick fog that seemed to be clouding his senses. It didn't do much good, and that made him angry. "It's time to go, girl." He gave her a rough push toward the gateway they'd used, and called over his shoulder – "Kiss the parents." He might not have; he'd been planning to just leave them there, but he wanted revenge for the way his knees kept trying to give way beneath him.

This was insane. It was impossible. There must be some trick; he couldn't have used that…that _twig…_to – to do what it looked like he'd done. _Chemicals?__ But I didn't see…_She couldn't think; everything was blurry and his hand was bruising her arm; there'd be dark purple splotches all over it and she hated that; her skin showed every bruise she got, and what on earth was she thinking about? She had to focus. Focus.

"Kiss the parents." His voice was cold as he said it, and a cold chill raced down her neck. Why did that phrase make her so very afraid? That was silly. It was a silly thing to be afraid of, just a kiss…and then she turned around to see, and the world stopped for just a moment.

There were her parents, her plump kind-faced mother and her tall stork of a father. They were being held fast by tall…_things_…in tattered black shrouds, slimy scabrous hands wrapped lovingly around her mother's neck, and suddenly she knew, deep down in her soul, that this was the worst possible thing that could have happened. "No! Don't – don't –" and then the dark rotten hoods had fallen over her parents' faces, and her mother's skin was strangely grey and her father was sagging like his bones had all melted, and –

And Azrae felt a strange uncoiling in her chest, a swift bright explosion, and the world suddenly became a line drawing in black and white, where the black was just as blinding as the white, and then everything was gone, and there was peace.

Tonks ran ahead through the strange portal, running as though her life depended on it. Maybe it did. In any case, there was an innocent girl on the other side at the mercy of Lucius Malfoy, and that was reason enough for concern. That, and…other things. Every reason to hurry. "Remus, hurry! They said he had dementors! What are you waiting for?" He quickened his pace.

The house, when they reached it, was ominously empty; the wind whistled through the open doors with a lonely cry, but it didn't quite cover the sound of screams from the back yard. "_Kiss the parents_," a cold voice drawled, and Remus bolted for the door. He knew that voice. They were nearly there, now, but time seemed to crawl, and he knew they wouldn't make it in time to prevent that kiss.

A girl's voice, now, fluting and terrified – _"No! Don't – don't…"_ He wanted to weep for the heartbreak in that voice, and he saw tears shining on Tonks's cheeks, but neither of them slowed. There was the door, now – the rushed through, just in time to see what appeared to be a supernova.

He fell to the ground, pulling Tonks with him, expecting any moment to be incinerated; the blazing white light and the heat seemed to be searing his skin away – but as quickly as it began, it was over. He stood to find oily piles of rags where dementors had been, the grass burnt brown in a wide circle, and Malfoy scrambling away on hands and knees, sobbing at the angry red burn that had once been his skin. Only the two bodies – Remus could only assume they had been the girl's foster parents – were untouched. That and the girl.

She lay on the only circle of green grass left, sprawled bonelessly with one arm outstretched, and the fading glow of her made his eyes itch. It wasn't unpleasant. He wanted to stare, to memorize the way the light pulled back into her skin, but there wasn't time. "Tonks, hurry – help me carry her back. She won't be safe until we get her back to headquarters. Quickly!" Ignoring the pitiful wretch that she had made of Malfoy, they carefully gathered her up and carried her back to the portal.


End file.
